The left."

The next one told him to take the right, and at last he was advised to
keep in the middle.

Finding he could gain no reliable information, he stood upright and
looked about to see, if possible, what the danger was. Ahead of him was
a rapid, running amid big, black rocks and crossed by a bridge which was
crowded with people. It was too late to think of stopping himself and be
swept into and through it like an arrow; but at the bottom he was
carried against a wall of rock and nearly blinded. He hung there for a
few moments to recover himself, and again felt the current bearing him
away almost as fast as he approached. He was kindly received all along,
and had he accepted one-third of the invitations to entertainments, some
months would have been required to finish the voyage. On one
lonely stretch, he saw a solitary countryman standing on the bank.

"Ho, ho; my good friend," he shouted.

"Who is there?" asked the startled farmer.

"The devil."

"Where are you going?"

"To Lyons."

"Well, get along, then; you are going home."

Probably the farmer had visited Lyons, and was not pleased with that
city.

Paul entered Lyons at two o'clock, having been twenty-four hours under
way. He was tendered a splendid reception and presented with several
rich souvenirs. Resuming the journey, he traveled at the rate of fifteen
miles an hour and many people accompanied him in boats for quite a
distance down the stream. At places along the route, the banks were
broken, the river flooded the lowlands, and he was frequently carried
among groves of trees, requiring no little exertion to keep from being
pounded against them by the force of the current. He paddled that night
and all the next day and night without meeting unusual adventure, when
he reached Pont St. Esprit, with its long stone bridge, through one arch
of which, the river rushes with much force. The next day ended this
rapid voyage, as he landed at Arles in safety. The entire population
was out to receive him. Not thinking of his exhausted condition, a
force of gendarmes who had been sent by the Mayor to escort him to the
hotel de Vine, turned a deaf ear to his demands for a carriage, but
insisted on his marching through the hot, dusty street, encased in the
heavy rubber dress, carrying his little boat and paddle so the people
would have a good chance to see him. The gendarmes meant everything in
kindness; but in that case, kindness c